


Hell Yeah, Jack

by Finchley



Category: Halloween Horror Nights at Universal Studios
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-08-05 14:00:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16368938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Finchley/pseuds/Finchley
Summary: There’s a girl with hair like midnight and a man unwinding her kiss by kiss.





	Hell Yeah, Jack

**Author's Note:**

> I love writing these two! I hope you enjoy.

Domesticity never suited them. How could it? They weren’t exactly fit for a life of coffee makers, freshly mowed grass, and matching towels. Their life was dangerous; it was licking blood off the edge of a knife and asphyxiation while making love. It was broken liquor bottles strewn across the floor and the intoxicating scent of viscera. It was his lover, sweaty and bruised and undone, passed out on a heap of scrap metal and ragged sheets in their musty old trailer.

Evening light washes across Chance’s face, revealing bright smudges of scarlet lipstick up and down her neck; patches of purple and blue bloom amongst them. “Mmmn… Jack…” she mumbles in her sleep. Jack’s eyebrows rise. He wonders what she’s dreaming of, or if she dreams at all.

When he dreams, they’re all nightmares.

He sets down the bottle of whiskey he’s been nursing and draws closer to her. The worn floorboards creak under the pressure of his black boots; Jack grumbles impatiently at the noise as Chance stirs in her sleep. He crouches next to her head and rakes his fingernails through the tangled mess of her dark hair, gently sliding away a strand that’s dipping between her lips.

“Shhh, Chancey,” he whispers softly. For a moment, he wants to cup her cheek, but he quickly catches himself and hisses a sharp, “Go back to sleep.”

Chance’s amber eyes flutter open and something wrenches inside of Jack. In a split second, he’s drowning. He sees her adoration, her devotion, her absolute acceptance of everything he is, and wants to strangle the life out of it.

“Goddammit, what did I just say?” he snarls.

Chance just smiles. She stretches one of her hands out to him and Jack feels himself surrender. He takes her hand between his, smoothing his thumbs over the soft skin, and leans down to press a chaste kiss to her palm. She smiles even wider.

“How’re ya feelin’, Daddy?” Chance asks. There’s a knowing, a satisfaction in her voice.

Jack doesn’t even have to look at her to know her eyes are ten shades darker. It burns him alive.

“Probably about as good as you, I think,” he mutters. He’s hyper-aware of himself avoiding her gaze. Their tattered window curtains suddenly become incredibly interesting.

“Minus, y’know, the booze.” Chance clicks her tongue, drawing him back in. “Yeah, I can smell that Stetson. Honestly, Jack, you’re shit when it comes to sobriety.”

“If that’s the only thing I’m shit at, I think I’m doing well,” he quips.

She giggles deviously. He looks up in time to see Chance smooth her other hand across her forehead and pull back to observe it. Her eyes lock onto his. Danger flashes in her smile.

“I think so, too,” she hums, observing the blood on her fingertips. “ _Very_ well, actually.”

Swallowing hard, Jack watches her bring her fingers to her lips and lick them in a single, long stroke. Everything goes fuzzy for a moment. He sees blood dripping from her throat and a smile so sinful, beckoning him to do it, do it, do it. There’s a torn skirt of red tulle, carelessly thrown aside in a frenzy of alcohol and hair and lustful hands. There’s a girl with hair like midnight and a man unwinding her kiss by kiss.

Then he realizes he’s furiously digging his nails into Chance’s hand and throws it back at her. He stands up with a grunt and paces back across the floor.

Chance, like a small puppy, is right behind him within seconds. Her arms slide around his waist, hugging him to her possessively. They stay like that for a moment; the wind groans through the trees outside. Then Jack reaches for the whiskey again.

“Hey Daddy, how about round two?” Chance purrs into his ear.

Jack’s eyes flick up to the shallow light filtering through the trailer window. _Must be near sundown._ They still had a while before they’d planned to grab their weapons and go. Fuck it.

He takes one last swig of whiskey, tosses the empty bottle aside, and twists around in Chance’s arms. His hands snake down to her hips, pulling her against him. There’s a carnal glint in her eye.

“Whaddya say?” Chance urges again.

Jack takes her bottom lip between his teeth; she arches against him immediately. Satisfied, he slurs, “I say hell yeah.”


End file.
